


And The Ashes Will Scatter

by brighidg



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heterosexual Sex, Post-War, The Quidditch Pitch: Erotic Couplings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-03
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10798755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brighidg/pseuds/brighidg
Summary: A former Death Eater dies under suspicious circumstances while in Ministry custody. This is a story of how the ensuing investigation affects two couples. (R/Hr and Draco/Asteria.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

This happens in the same "universe" as both _Court This Disaster_ and ~~the sorely-neglected~~ _More Than Our Abilities_ but you don't need to read either to follow this. This features both Ron/Hermione and Draco/Asteria.

Thanks to queenb23more, maybe1ce, and drcjsnider for their help!

* * *

_**December 13, 2006** _

 

"That report was _supposed_ to be on my desk this morning," Hermione said as she walked ahead of him. The sway of her hips and bounce of her hair were in near-perfect rhythm with the angry staccato of her heels against the Ministry's marble floors. Ron found the entire effect hypnotizing and he couldn't help smiling despite the argument.

"I sent it down yesterday before I left." Raising a hand, he batted away a paper airplane before it could hit him between the eyes. "I don't see why you need it, I already told you what happened with Frobisher and Burrow. You could write your report based on that."

In the second before it happened, Ron knew just how she would react and his grin widened at the familiarity of it all. Turning and taking a deep breath as if trying to rein in her temper, Hermione replied, "My job requires that I verify--"

"This bloody paperwork is a waste of time that could be spent doing real work." Auror Applebee glanced Ron's way as he passed and they shared a knowing look. All the trappings of bureaucracy - with its meetings and workshops and reports that had to be copied with triplicate spells - were a drain on time and resources. Every Auror knew this.

From the way she arched her brow and drew her lips into a tight line, Hermione didn't seem to agree.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, like I said, it should be on your desk.”

She turned and continued walking. “I _checked_ my desk before I went looking for you.”

“Then you _missed_ it.”

"Really?" She opened the door to her cupboard-sized office with a flourish and stood, hands on her hips. "Then find it."

Striding past her, Ron smirked. "With pleasure."

That smirk quickly slid from his face once he got a good look around her office. He could barely find her desk, hidden under papers and parchment, pictures and books. Everything was neatly stacked, not a sheet out of place but it was still too much for the small space. From the looks of it now, there wasn't even room for her to write without shuffling a few books around. He could easily picture his wife sitting here hidden behind a wall of books as she worked furiously on her latest project, fire in her eyes and quill playing between her parted lips.

"I don't know how you find anything under there." He would have suggested a filing cabinet or two but the office was so small it could only fit her desk, her cloak hanger,a child-sized Floo that was only good for calls and heat, a rubbish bin, and them.

In response he heard the door lock behind him followed by a silence that told him _Muffliato_ had been cast. Hermione snorted. "Me? Have you seen _your_ desk? If I didn't know better I'd say you were the victim of someone's Temporary Tornado Jinx."

"I have a method." He walked over to where she was leaning against the door, arms crossed. "It only appears to be a mess to the untrained eye but _I_ know where everything is."

"Is that so, Auror Weasley?" she challenged, knowing he loved it when she called him that.

Leaning in close enough that he could smell that mixture of shampoo and soap that he always associated with her, Ron rested one hand against the door and the other on her hip. "Watchfulness, intelligence, tenacity, courage, and honesty; that's the Auror's code. Nothing escapes my notice."

"Then where's my report?"

"Likely at the bottom of my outbox. Who cares?" he said with a shrug, smile playing on his lips as they met hers.

"I really do need it," she murmured against his mouth as she wrapped her arms around him, breasts pressed against his chest.

"I know you do. I need it, too."

"Ron!" she choked out a laugh before he silenced her with another kiss.

Between his work, her projects, and the demands of raising a six-month old baby, they'd hardly had any time for each other. When not working, he took care of their daughter so Hermione could work on her translation of _Beedle the Bard_ or study for her Juriswizard exams. He didn't mind that, in fact he loved it. With no offense intended towards his nieces and nephews, each one of whom he loved dearly, Ron was certain that Rosie was the most fascinating baby who ever lived. Or at least the most fascinating that _he'd_ ever known. But probably ever. That look in her big blue eyes as she studied the world around her was brilliant and she was going to _be_ brilliant. Just like her mum.

But preternaturally brilliant babies aside, he was exhausted and so was Hermione. While he wanted his wife as much, if not more, than before, most days he found himself happy to get the shower long enough for a morning wank. By the end of his very long day, the only thing Ron wanted more than his wife was sleep. Hermione was the same. Soon, two or three weeks at a time were passing without them having sex. These dry spells were broken more out their mutual dismay at their length rather than any real urgency.

It had occurred to Ron after about two months of this nonsense that their problems would be solved if they had sex during the day when Rosie was napping and they weren't so tired. Yet this brought with it the problem of them needing to be in the same place long enough during the day to actually have sex.

Then, during dinner two weeks before, Hermione announced that Kingsley had offered her a job in Magical Law Enforcement working for The Internal Office for Officer Integrity. Rather than a celebration, it had led to a row over who would watch their daughter while they were at work and his worry that Hermione was taking on too much. She needed this, Ron knew that. He had never expected that she would stay at home like his mum had. He understood that she had a lot she wanted do. And he knew, even without her saying it, that Hermione needed to prove herself after what had happened at the Department of Magical Creatures. This was a perfect opportunity for her to do just that in a job that seemed tailor-made for her. He was happy for her, but still he worried what it would mean for Rosie and what it would mean for them.

As they discovered on her first day of work, when they found themselves alone in her tiny little office, it meant great things for them. Working together, in the same department, gave them dozens of chances during the week to meet up for a quickie. She would march right into the Auror bullpen and demand he come down to her office to explain a report or to go over his notes. Ron, being the obliging husband of a woman who was obviously determined to prove how fair she was by holding him to a higher standard than anyone else, would go with little complaint.

"Hermione, have I mentioned how much I enjoy working with you?" he asked, nipping at her earlobe while he pulled her blouse free from her skirt.

She let out a sound that was between a sigh and a laugh as she pushed his shirt off his shoulders. "Only every time we meet in here."

"So not nearly enough." Gripping her arse he pulled her body flush against his as he kissed her throat, loving the little sound she made when he did. Running a hand down her thigh, intending to pull up her skirt, Ron stopped when he realized something was missing.

"Merlin's third tit," he muttered in shock, dropping to his knees in front of her and pushing up her pencil skirt.

"What? Ron?"

Licking his lips, the sight before him made Ron's cock twitch. Between her skirt now bunched at her hips and the lacy tops of the sheer stockings she wore, was the tawny skin of her thighs and the dark triangle of curls betwixt. Nothing else.

" _Hermione_ , you're not wearing any knickers."

"Yes, I am aware of that." She wiggled a bit, switching her weight from one foot to another. "I didn't really see the _need_."

Running a knuckle up her inner thigh, he nodded. Knowing that at any given moment his wife was wandering around without knickers, just waiting for the moment when she could shag him senseless was going to cause problems. Problems he hadn't had since fourth year when he started carrying a stack of books around with him just in case his robes weren't enough to hide any sudden and raging erections that occurred thanks to the French invasion of Hogwarts. Pressing against the line he had just traced, he nudged her knee with the back of his hand.

"We don't have much time," she protested feebly, slipping out of her heels before he guided one leg over his shoulder.

“Won't need it,” Ron whispered, watching her shudder from the heat of his breath and the scrape of his beard against her skin as he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses along her thigh. He slid a finger between her already-wet folds, lazily circling around her clit and pushing against her center but not entering, earning a frustrated whimper from Hermione.

Stopping long enough to kiss her other leg just above the top of her stocking, he added conversationally, “It's been ages since we've done this. I've missed it.”

“Months.”

“Months,” he repeated. These little quickies were a godsend but he missed those long hours they used to spend in bed, driving each other mad. Gently pressing his mouth against her, he lightly swiped his tongue between her folds, his tongue just grazing her clit. Hermione's back arched, her breathing shallow and her fingernails dug into his bare shoulders. A few times more and she was rocking her hips, biting her lower lip as she did. God, how he missed the sounds she would make, the moans and sobs and screams when she came.

She whimpered when he pulled back. “Take off your shirt. I want to see those gorgeous tits.”

A blush came over her. Hermione rolled her eyes but made quick work of her blouse buttons, revealing the plain beige nursing bra underneath. Ron loved these bras. They didn't have the sensual innocence of the white cotton bras she'd worn when they first got together or the overpowering eroticism of the lacy little things that came later, but what they lacked in form they made up for in function. He loved that the hooks were in the front and he loved that he didn't even have to bother with the hooks; that he could simply peel away the cups to reveal her bare breasts.

Easier for her as well, she unsnapped her bra in one smooth move. “Touch yourself, love.”

Biting her lower lip again, she kept her eyes on his as she cupped her breasts in her hands, running her thumbs over the hardened nipples. “Like this?”

“Fuck yes,” Ron growled. Pressing his mouth between her legs once more, he flicked his tongue against her clit before sucking on it, causing Hermione to let out a loud moan that went straight to his cock. He did this again and again – sometimes gently lapping at the swollen nub and sometimes pushing his tongue inside her – until his wife was grinding against him, panting his name.

The sight and sound of her driving him mad, he cupped himself through his pants with his free hand, lightly squeezing his stiff cock. If they had the time, Ron would have happily spent the bulk of the morning like this, using his tongue and fingers to tease her until she came, shaking as she cried out his name.

“Oh, _oh God_ , Ron.”

Watching as she pinched her nipples, he slid two fingers inside of her, languidly pumping them in and out as he licked and sucked her.

“Need you,” she pleaded, her hands coming down to rest on his shoulders again as she pushed him back. Her face was flushed, eyes were dark with desire, and lips swollen. He couldn't refuse her anything right now even _if_ he wanted to.

And he didn't. Letting her leg slide from his shoulder, he stood, popping his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean. Hermione made an impatient noise at this, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his trousers and pulling him towards her.

Then it was her turn to drive him mad. She unzipped his trousers and pushed down his pants, freeing his cock so she could grasp it in a loose fist. Rubbing her thumb over the tip and causing him to jerk in her hand, Hermione slowly stroked him, her tongue moving across her upper lip as she looked down at him. Reminded of all the incredible things she could do with that tongue, he threaded his fingers in her short hair and pulled her in for a kiss.

As if reading his mind, she curled her tongue around his, sighing into his mouth as she did. Picking her up, Ron pinned her against the door. Hermione's head hit the wood behind her with a soft thunk and she let out a low moan as he slid inside her.

“I'm gonna fuck you until you scream,” he breathed against her neck, his thrusts jerky as he tried to control them.

One arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders, her other hand pushed against the door jamb as she tried to meet his movements with thrusts of her own. “Fuck, Ron, harder, _please_.”

That combination of pleading and swearing loosened something in him. Groaning, he kissed her roughly as he bucked against her hard, the wet sound of skin slapping against skin and her high-pitched cries filling his ears.

“You feel so fucking amazing,” he grunted as she tightened around him, trembling as she came. Two more strokes and he was spilling into her, faced buried in her shoulder as he whispered her name over and over.

His arms shaking, Ron pulled out and lowered her to the floor. She leaned against the door, catching her breath. With her skin still flushed, her hair ruffled, her blouse and bra open and her skirt still around her hips she looked like a woman who'd been well-shagged. He glanced down at himself, to the black socks pulled up to mid-calf and the pants and trousers pooled around his ankles.

“It's not fair,” he snorted, pulling up his trousers.

Wand in hand, Hermione smoothed her skirt down. A small thrill went through him as he remembered that was all she was wearing. “What's not?”

“How you can look dead sexy right now and I just look like an idiot.”

“You do not!”

Amused, Ron arched a brow at her.

“Aside from having the socks on,” she conceded, a small grin playing on her lips. Walking over to him, she leaned in and gave him a soft kiss. “Other than that, I'd say you're quite sexy, Auror Weasley.”

He smiled. “I am, aren't I?”

She swatted his arm playfully.

They dressed quickly, casting _Tergeo_ on themselves and the office. Hermione gave him some of the Muggle baby wipes she'd taken to carrying everywhere.

Slipping back into her heels, she glanced over at him. “I still need that report, Ron.”

“I reckon I'll have some free time this afternoon,” he said, tucking his shirt in, “if you want to come and get it.”

“I mean it. Oh!” With a flick of her wand, she lifted the _Muffliato_ and the noise of the hall came rushing back, including what sounded like something brushing against the door.

Then there was a knock.

She looked over at him and around the office as if unsure of what to do. Casting one more Deodorizing Spell on the air, Ron waved her towards the door with his free hand.

“Hermione, why did you have a Muffling Charm cast on your office?” Harry asked as he entered, nodding at Ron.

“I... _we_ were discussing something. About a case.”

“Sensitive stuff, y'know,” Ron added, with a shrug.

Harry stared at the two of them, his bafflement giving way to an awful look of understanding.

“Right. Erm. Right,” he said slowly, the awkwardness settling in the office. As Ron still considered himself lucky that he hadn't gone blind after walking in on Harry doing unspeakable things to his baby sister, he had little sympathy for his best mate.

“Is there something you wanted, Harry?” Hermione ventured.

“Yes. Kingsley wants to see the two of you.” Before they could ask, Harry continued, “He wants us to head up the investigation into Goyle's death.”

“Investigation?” One glance told him Hermione was just as surprised. “I thought that was ruled a suicide. What's there to investigate?”

“Shacklebolt's not so sure about that and neither am I. He wants the three of us to look into it.”

“Just us three?” Hermione asked. “What about Robards or MacDonald?”

Harry shook his head. “Nope. This is _sensitive stuff_ , y'know. ”

Ignoring the jab, Ron exchanged a look with his wife. It was strange that neither the Head of the Aurors nor the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol would be included in this. “What's going on, Harry?”

“Shacklebolt will explain everything. He's waiting for us now in his office.”

 

~*~***~*~

 

For once, Draco was glad for the miserable weather as it perfectly matched his mood. Gray and blustery, the howling wind became the ninth mourner at this small affair. Tightening his grip on his mother's arm, he took out his wand and melted the frozen grass in their path. His one wish was that it would have the decency to snow like the _Prophet_ had predicted. Nearly anything would have been better than the sleet that bit at the skin or the freezing rain that covered everything in a fine layer of ice. With another flick of his wand Draco recast the _Impervius_ over his wife and son before doing the same for himself and his mother. He reckoned it was his own fault for having expected that small courtesy. The universe was rarely that kind and the _Daily Prophet_ never that accurate.

Even with the added protection, Scorpius continued his fussing. Without a carriage and not wanting to risk Apparition, they'd traveled there by Floo. His son hated it. Anytime they attempted Floo travel with Scorpius, they had to distract him or even cover his eyes completely like Asteria had done today, clutching him close to her breast before pulling her cloak over his head and stepping into the hearth. That method had worked in the past but Scorpius had since grown wise to them and had spent the past hour gearing up for what would surely be a fine strop.

Holding the door open, he waited for Asteria and his mother to go first before following. The door swung closed behind him, the sound echoing. From the outside, the mausoleum was plain and small, not much larger in size than a gardener's shed. Inside was a cavernous room that was the final resting place to several generations of Goyles.

As a child, Draco had been both fascinated and repulsed by his own family's mausoleum. Modeled after the Temple of Venus in Baalbek, the grand circular structure had an air of majesty and mystery to it. He'd been too afraid to enter it until he had reached his teens and had decided such fear should be hidden away like his old stuffed dragon. The inside was similar to the Goyles', the only difference being the Malfoys' had _more_. More space, more statues, and more ornate sarcophagi. Draco had spent a day wandering through the room, trying not to jump at the slightest sound and reading the names of those entombed there. He saw many of the same names around him today: Black, Crouch, Crabbe, Lestrange, Nott, and Prince. A near-complete list of the great pure-blood families that had been snuffed out over two wars.

And today, the Goyle name would be laid to rest with Greg.

“Dee!” Scorpius had paused long enough in his fussing to notice his surroundings and was currently quite taken with the statue in the middle of the room. A saint, standing over some supposed relic of theirs that would ensure God's good grace and mercy was with the Goyle family. Draco snorted. Fat load of good that had ever done them.

Taking this as encouragement, Scorpius pointed again, repeating, “Dee!” Narcissa looked over in concern while Asteria hushed him.

“Perhaps I should take Scorpius outside?” his mother whispered to him. Draco shook his head, the entire group falling momentarily quiet as the priest took his place at the head of the bier.

Somehow he had avoided looking at the body for any length of time during the mass. Now, standing beside it, Draco found he couldn't look anywhere else. Wrapped in the Goyle heraldic colors of black and blue, the body seemed too small to be him. He tried to reconcile this with the picture of Greg in his mind, recalling the last time he'd seen him, six weeks before at Scorpius' birthday. Draco had tried in vain to convince him to move to Murava, promising that he would find him a better job and that people out East were more accepting about their role in the war.

Greg had refused, wanting to stay in England close to his mum.

The last time Draco had spoken to him was three days prior. Greg had fire-called him from jail and was surprised that Draco had been asleep, unaware there was a three hour time-difference between England and Russia. Telling Draco that he had unknowingly broken his parole, he had asked him to send a good Juriswizard over to the Ministry as soon as possible. Tired and rather annoyed that Greg had called him instead of _anyone in the same time zone_ , Draco had promised that he would and cut the conversation short.

And he had. Before going back to sleep, he had left a message with at the law firm of Anderson, Macmillan & Greengrass explaining the situation and asking that they send a solicitor over. Several hours later, while at work, Asteria's great-aunt Eunomia Floo'd him back.

According to Magical Law Enforcement, Greg had committed suicide while in custody.

His chest tightened as he remembered the conversation he'd had with an MLE officer when he had questioned the Ministry's version of events. Mr. Goyle, they said, had been behaving erratically and was under the influence of alcohol. Several officers overheard him saying that he didn't want to go back to Azkaban and “obviously” Mr. Goyle had panicked at that possibility and killed himself.

Bollocks. All of it. A wizard weighing over twenty stone couldn't hang himself with a _sock_. And someone who was too worried about their mother to even consider moving wasn't going to kill himself over the slim chance he might go back to prison.

Beside him, Scorpius whimpered. Glancing over, Draco saw him pushing against Asteria, face blotchy as if he was about to let out a loud wail. _Muffliato_ was out. It wouldn't be fair to leave his wife under it with their screaming son and he didn't want to leave Scorpius under it alone as the sudden silence would only frighten him more.

The priest, sensing the coming interruption, raised his voice with the next words. “We therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.”

“I'll take him,” he murmured to his wife, grabbing Scorpius. This sudden change in guard surprised his son and he briefly forgot about his tantrum to stare quizzically at his dad. As soon as they were outside, Draco recast the _Impervius_ on the chance it might rain again and set his son down. Finally free, Scorpius staggered away like a drunk leaving a tavern, taking in his new surroundings with interest.

Draco could still hear the closing words of the priest's prayer. In a few more minutes, he'd hear the scrape of stone against stone that would tell him the sarcophagus had been closed and that was the end. Just another casualty of the war.

He pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against and walked over to where Scorpius was standing, one pink fist wrapped around a frost-covered leaf.

“Where is your mitten?”

Scorpius looked up at him, leaf still clutched in the hand that was now halfway to his mouth. Caught, his son held out his hand. “Dee?”

“Leaf.” Draco said, taking it from him. _Dee_ was Scorpius' all-purpose word for anything that he didn't know the name of already. “And _dirty_ , don't eat it.”

He waited until his son looked away before dropping the leaf to the ground and discreetly wiping his hands. With a Summoning Charm, Draco then found Scorpius' soggy and forgotten mitten. Once it had been cleaned and dried, he put it back on his son with a reminder to keep it on.

“Mama,” Scorpius huffed in response, with a look towards the mausoleum.

It was a testament to how bored Scorpius had been after having to sit still during the funeral mass and how restless he was by the prospect of doing the same for the committal that he hadn't even cried when separated from his mother. Typically, he had to be distracted whenever she left the house. The very reason they couldn't leave him with Lucius today was because his son refused to let Asteria out of his sight, following her through the manor when he could and looking for her when she wasn't nearby.

A bitter taste rose in his mouth when he thought about the Ministry refusing their request that Lucius be allowed to attend today's services. They had actually had the audacity to cite “short notice” as one of their reasons for their refusal.

“We're going to wait for her here.” As soon as he said that a wide grin broke across Scorpius' face and Draco turned to see Asteria and his mother exiting the mausoleum behind the priest. After them was Mrs. Goyle, flanked by Ada Crabbe – Vince's sister - to her right and her own sister, Lydia Flint, to her left. Scorpius toddled over to the group and Draco followed.

“Bernice has invited us to tea,” Narcissa said as Asteria scooped up Scorpius in her arms. “I told her I would be there.”

The question went unspoken and he found himself grateful that his mother hadn't promised he would be there. He could think of nothing he'd rather do less than drink weak tea and eat stale sandwiches while discussing Greg's pitiful life and wretched death.

He thought suddenly of Blaise and Pansy, who had both made excuses for why they wouldn't be here today. Rather than feeling any empathy with them, Draco only found himself more annoyed. If _he_ could sit through all this, so could they.

“We'll be going back to the manor,” he said, moving closer to his wife. “We still have shopping to do before Friday.”

“Of course.” Narcissa kissed Scorpius and Draco on the cheek. “I'll give Bernice your regards.”

She left, joining the other women as they walked towards the Goyle home.

“Shall we try Apparition this time?” he asked with a glance towards Scorpius. He doubted the response would be much better but the trip would be quicker at least.

Draco bristled at the concern in Asteria's expression. She had yet to say anything, but he was already thinking of his response. Yes, he was fine. He had been to a dozen such funerals over the past several years; this was nothing new. No, he didn't want to talk about it. There was nothing more to say and he saw no need to dwell on it.

“It can't hurt,” Asteria said calmly. There was a look of perfect understanding in her eyes, as if she had slipped into his mind and knew everything he hadn't said. Perhaps she had.

Slipping her hand into his, they walked towards the Apparition Point.


	2. Chapter 2

  
Author's notes: The Green Park mentioned here is not any of the Green Parks - past or present - currently in England. It is the ancestral Greengrass home.  


* * *

_**December 15, 2006**_  
  
“C'mon, Rosie, there's just a bit more,” he pleaded, scraping the last bit of mashed carrots from the bowl. His daughter pursed her lips tightly, giving him a look of firm disapproval that was reminiscent of Hermione's. All that was missing were her hands on her hips. Knowing one way to win her over, he raised the spoon high and grinned. "Here comes the Hogwarts Express!"  
  
Smiling, Rosie watched the spoon twist and turn through the air. She kicked her feet when it came close, mouth parting in a toothless smile only to snap shut as she turned her head away at the last minute.  
  
“Fine. You win.” He swallowed the last bite, grimacing a bit as he did. It wasn't _bad_ , exactly, but the texture always felt odd and the taste paled in comparison to the mashed bananas. “Done.”  
  
Leaning over, careful not to step on the tail of the sleeping lump of fur on the floor, Ron wiped away the mashed carrots on his daughter's face while she fussed, flailing her arms and twisting her head away. As usual, it looked like she and her food had been in a fight and he still couldn't tell who the winner had been. Once her face and hands were clean, he flicked his wand, and animal-shaped bubbles marched out, much to his daughter's delight. He still had to thank Harry for showing him that trick.  
  
Fergus, their half-Kneazle, flicked his brown-tipped tail, suddenly alert as he watched the bubbles dance around Rosie. He didn't spare a passing glance to Ron as he stepped over him on his way to the sink.  
  
When they had returned to the Burrow after the final battle, his dad told them that Crookshanks had died during Death Eaters' attack on the wedding party. One Death Eater had tried to attack Luna from behind when Crookshanks had lept to her defense only to be struck down with a Stunning Spell from another Death Eater.  
  
After Hermione had finished her seventh year at Hogwarts, Ron had mentioned the possibility of buying her another cat. He wasn't terribly keen on them himself, but he knew how much she missed Crookshanks. Always far more reasonable than any normal person would be, Hermione had pointed out that she'd hardly have time for a pet and it wouldn't be fair for it to be cooped up in her flat all day while she was at work. Realizing that she was right – and suspecting she was still mourning Crookshanks – he let the matter drop.  
  
Then last winter, while helping George with inventory at the shop, Ron had heard something crying. Once outside, it wasn't long before he found the kitten: ginger with speckled fur; its feet, belly, and the tip of its tail were all brown, making it look as if it had been dipped in paint. Being soft in the head, Ron had decided to rescue it from the cold. Something that was easier said that done. Two bites and a few scratches later, he finally managed to sneak up on it and throw his coat over it while George applauded his “fine Auror abilities.”  
  
“You could move, you know,” he said to Fergus as he walked back to his chair. Looking thoroughly bored, the furry little bastard stayed put, flicking his tail as he stared up at Ron.  
  
“You know he likes to stay close to Rosie.” Hermione bustled back into the room, a book under her arm. “He's protective.”  
  
"He's hoping she'll drop some food. He's hungry.” Ron grabbed a slice of naan bread from the table, ripping off a chunk and shoving it into his mouth before asking, “What did Ernie say?"  
  
Ron had been torn between worry and relief when she had told him about her impending change in career.  
  
Having successfully lobbied in favor of honoring the non-human and non-living who had fought against Voldemort before she officially began at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, it had seemed her career was off to a great start. For a while, anyway. Despite pushing through important legislation - most notably the House-Elf Asylum Act – Hermione had wondered privately if that year spent at Hogwarts had been a mistake. If she had lost rare opportunities to radically remake things while they were still recovering from the war.  
  
At first, he had honestly thought she was making too much out of nothing. But the wins were harder to find, the resistance more apparent and more organized. Then came her big push for Werewolf Rights.  
  
She had talked about it for months, how being ostracized from society, unable to find work or afford Wolfsbane Potion contributed to a cycle of poverty. How Werewolf packs counted on this ignorance and injustice to help them keep their members and to give them something to fight against. When Lavender – of all people – introduced Hermione to Rolf Scamander it seemed like everything was falling into place. Scamander had revolutionized Werewolf Rights in Germany and it looked like Hermione was set to do the same in Britain.  
  
Then Greyback and his pack had announced their return to England by killing a family in Middlesbrough. The press was merciless. Suddenly Hermione's legislation wasn't about helping people, it was about aiding murderers. Harry had to stop Ron before he punched out one reporter who had the gall to ask Hermione why she was “showing more sympathy to Greyback than to his victims.” People who had once supported her reforms took it as a chance to throw her under the train while looking tough on crime.  
  
Two months later, when she found out she was pregnant, she handed in her request for a transfer.  
  
"Nothing." Settling in at the kitchen table, Hermione pushed away her barely-touched plate of chicken tikka masala and pulled her papers closer to her. "He told me on Wednesday that his in-laws were having a Hanukkah party and he wouldn't be available. It completely slipped my mind."  
  
"Can't imagine how."  
  
Hermione's head snapped up and before she could retort, he put a hand up and calmly told her, "Maybe you should take a break and have something to eat. You haven't even touched your dinner."  
  
"Even if I'm not meeting with Ernie, I still have to look over the cases we were going to work on tonight, and I had hoped to get more done with Dumbledore's notes about _Beedle the Bard_ and now there's the Goyle case--"  
  
"Hermione, relax. Ernie is not going to dock House Points if you take a night off. _Beedle the Bard_ can wait, and we can talk about the Goyle case while you eat your dinner." He edged the papers away from her while she frowned at him.  
  
“You're right.” Pulling her plate closer, she raised her wand.  
  
“Doesn't need it.” At her look of confusion, he continued, “I put a Heating Spell on it when you went to Floo Ernie.”  
  
Hermione smiled softly at him. “Thank you.”  
  
Shrugging, he pushed the “stye-roh-foam” container of raita towards her, knowing she'd need it in a few minutes. Though she was the one who had introduced him to Indian take-away, Hermione generally found it too spicy and always needed some of the cucumber-flavored yogurt on hand when they had it for dinner.  
  
While Hermione tucked-in, pausing every few bites to talk to Rosie, he sorted through the papers. There was a bill for their cold cupboard that Ron was certain he had paid already, a Christmas card from Hermione's parents that had only taken five days to arrive from Australia (he was still fascinated by Muggle post), and a letter from the organization for human, Beast and Being rights that Justin Finch-Fletchley had founded – Global Amnesty Group.  
  
Ron still wondered if his wife had helped with the name.  
  
“I think Harry and Shacklebolt are right,” Hermione said after a large gulp of water. “I think Robards and MacDonald suspect something. They're being very uncooperative.”  
  
“They're just trying to protect their people. We don't know that it was foul play yet.”  
  
“Don't know? They're completely stonewalling us! There are no photographs of what happened in the holding cell Goyle was in because the camera was conveniently broken--”  
  
“It was broken before they arrested Goyle. I know, I mentioned it to Robards.”  
  
“Which is why Goyle should have been in a holding cell with the MLEs and not the Aurors.”  
  
“He was classified as a Dark wizard. Didn't matter if all he did was break parole, he had to come to us first.”  
  
“They say he hung himself with a sock. A sock. How is that even possible?”  
  
“That's how they found him. No defensive wounds were found on his body, the autopsy didn't reveal any dodgy potions use, and _Deletrius_ was performed on the wands of all the Au--”  
  
“Why are you defending them?” Hermione blurted out, struggling to smile at Rosie, who looked at her mum in surprise. She waved her wand, distracting both their daughter and their cat with a shower of daisies that disappeared as they fell to the floor.  
  
“Why are you assuming that someone's guilty?” He barreled on before she could repeat herself, “Look, Hermione, right now all we have are a bunch of coincidences and Goyle's _admittedly_ surprising suicide. That's not enough to build a case. Before Shacklebolt and Harry said anything, did you suspect something was going on?”  
  
“No,” she admitted. “But don't you think Shacklebolt and Harry must have good cause to re-open the investigation?”  
  
“I'm not saying they don't, _but_ I've worked side-by-side with these people. They've had my back. They're my friends. I don't want to think one of them is capable of something like this, you know?” Even as he said it, he couldn't help but think a few of them would have reason to do it.  
  
“Oh, Ron.” She reached across the table to grab his hand, covering it with her own and giving it a small squeeze.  
  
He sighed. “I reckon we should start with the reports.”  
  


~*~***~*~ 

 

"Thank you, Uncle Draco!" the three girls said in near-unison, the youngest chiming in a few seconds after her sister and cousin. Thanks to the Amplification Spells on their toys, their giggles - like the "music" they played - echoed throughout Green Park. Realizing this, they began playing their instruments again, the sounds from the guitar, trumpet, and drum clashing together in a headache-inducing melody. Draco smirked as he watched his brothers-in-law cringe, both likely wondering how soon until they could get rid of the gifts and claim they'd been lost. He didn't mind. After the conversation he'd just had with his eldest niece where she had prattled on about wiping bogeys on her cousin, he was thinking a “Weasley Wheezes Beginner's Guide to Pranks & Jokes” might be on the list for next year. Maybe he would even sign them up for the “Wheeze of the Month” club when they were old enough.  
  
With the way the Greengrasses fawned over Potter and pals, he couldn't see how they would mind.  
  
Glancing around the room, his earlier irritability returned. Asteria _knew_ how uncomfortable it was for him to spend time with her family. Without her around, the only people around he had to talk to were the children. However, their nieces were currently busy making sounds that would cause a banshee to weep and their son was happily slobbering on a wooden dreidel while the elder Greengrasses cooed at him.  
  
Draco poured himself another glass of wine and took a seat at the abandoned dining table. Feeling more like a spectator at this gathering than a participant, he watched as his sister-in-law and father-in-law both came by to pick over the desserts, doing their best to ignore him. Normally, he'd be thankful it was just them and not his mother-in-law but not tonight. Tonight he would have welcomed her attempts at starting a fight.  
  
Wishing he had a cigarette and a stronger drink, he leaned back in his chair and watched the snow fall outside.  
  
“I have good news,” a familiar voice whispered in his ear. He turned to see Asteria smiling at him. Despite his annoyance with her, he couldn't help but be struck by how she looked right then; wearing a white cashmere dress that hugged her curves, her long dark hair pulled back and adorned with a small flower, she looked every bit like the nymph she was named after.  
  
“And what would that be?”  
  
“That was Pansy on the Floo,” she began, looking over the chocolates, cheesecake, and sufganiyot before choosing the latter. Sitting down beside, she continued, “She and Daphne were talking when I walked in, and she – Pansy – told me that she had found the _Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle_ adventure set.”  
  
“You're kidding.”  
  
Two weeks ago, his Aunt Andromeda had sent out a plea for help. Teddy was a big fan of the comic and desperately wanted the adventure set. It was all he would talk about. Unfortunately, Teddy wasn't the only child who wanted the set as most stores couldn't keep it in stock. It had seemed the only way to find a set this close to Christmas would be to buy it off the street for three times the price.  
  
Even then, it was impossible to find as Draco had discovered when he had tried.  
  
“Nope.” Asteria daintily pulled off a chunk of her sufganiyot and popped it into her mouth, swallowing before she asked, “Do you remember Ramon?”  
  
“The bloke with the pesky wife problem?”  
  
“Not anymore,” she said wryly, licking the jam from her thumb. “Pansy was telling Daphne that he had signed the divorce papers today when I walked in. Anyway, Ramon knows someone at the shop where they make the sets. Pansy told him about our little dilemma and he pulled a few strings. It should arrive tomorrow by Portkey delivery.”  
  
“That's incredible.” Not only would Teddy and Andromeda both be pleased but he would finally get one over on Potter.  
  
“It is. I thanked her already but I'm sure she wouldn't mind hearing from you also.”  
  
“Very subtle, yes.” He knew she had been unhappy with him for snapping at Pansy when she said she wouldn't be attending Greg's funeral. “I will do that tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
By post. He didn't want to talk to her. Pansy would be apologetic and Draco wanted to hold onto his anger.  
  
Asteria arched a brow at his tone but didn't comment on it. With a glance towards their nieces – who had just burst into an off-key rendition of “Please Give Me a Hippogriff for Christmas” – she added, “I also found a few Lori Lee dolls and sets for the girls for Christmas. The new wireless show has made them insanely popular. Those were the last three sets in the shop.”  
  
He stared back at her in response, wondering why he was supposed to know who this was.  
  
“Martin Miggs' sidekick and sometimes-girlfriend? Her program comes on right after his and she has her own comic now as well.”  
  
“Ah.”  
  
Asteria gave an incredulous laugh. “She was in his comic too! Practically every issue. She was always being kidnapped and wore these ridiculously short skirts.”  
  
“And they built an entire comic series around that?”  
  
“No. Now, she's a scientist like Martin and is in the Muggle military so she is much more proactive. But she still wears the short skirts.”  
  
“Naturally.” When she reached for the wine bottle, he grabbed it first and poured a glass for her.  
  
“Thank you.” She took a sip. “I can't believe you don't know who Lori Lee is.”  
  
“I never read the comic.” Not entirely true. He'd read one issue when he was nine that had revolved around Martin going to the moon and wearing a robot suit that helped him defeat an army of extraterrestrial robots. At the end of that issue, as he expected was true for every Martin Miggs comic, there was a page describing how some of the things in the comic related to real-life Muggles.  
  
Draco had been stupefied at the thought that the same creatures he'd been told couldn't read, who were filthy and flea-ridden, had built machines that were smart enough to build other machines. That he'd been told Muggles were little better than apes and yet it was _they_ who had visited the moon several times when wizards hadn't even gone into space.  
  
“You never... you weren't allowed,” she finished slowly. Asteria knew about his father's failed attempts at having “The Fountain of Fair Fortune” removed from all Hogwarts' editions of _Beedle the Bard_ as well as his campaign to change how Muggle Studies was taught so as to present a more “accurate” picture of Muggles.  
  
“Of course not.” His father wouldn't have allowed him to read anything that portrayed Muggles in a sympathetic light, let alone a comic with a Muggle hero.  
  
“Vince was a big fan. He had almost every issue.” It had been his comic that Draco had read. Later, at home, he had told his father about Martin Miggs and what it had said about Muggles. Upset, Lucius had Floo'd the Crabbes at once. Draco's sense of guilt was outmatched by his excitement and his _pride_ at watching his father chide the other adults. He had always known that his father was someone who other people respected and feared but that had been his first lesson to the kind of power Lucius Malfoy had.  
  
Vince wouldn't read another Martin Miggs comic until Hogwarts, when he could steal them off of the other kids. Draco had mocked both him and Greg for their interest in the series, calling them babies at first and Muggle-lovers later. They took to hiding the comics from him for a while but eventually Draco stopped caring and they stopped pretending.  
  
He took a drink. “Greg is, also. He and Vince would trade comics. He's even mentioned listening to the show.”  
  
Whatever questions he had over what he had just said were confirmed with one look at his wife. There was no pity in her eyes, only sadness. He wasn't interested in either.  
  
Pushing his glass away, he attempted levity. “I suppose that means I've had enough to drink tonight.”  
  
Asteria didn't say anything at first, running a finger around the rim of her wineglass. “You were up late last night.”  
  
“I had trouble falling asleep.” Overtaken with a sense of anxiety, he had gone down to the library, spending over an hour looking for something to read, only to find he couldn't concentrate enough to finish a page. From there he had decided to go for a walk around the Manor grounds, going as far as the lake before heading back.  
  
“Yes, I had assumed as much,” Asteria replied, a sardonic tone in her voice.  
  
Draco sighed. “Then why mention it?”  
  
“I'm worried about you.” She rested her hand on his. “There was the dementor attack a few weeks ago and then this happened--”  
  
“ _This_ being Greg's oh-so-mysterious death,” he drawled, pulling his hand away. Draco turned his head, the wounded look in her eyes gnawing at him.  
  
“Yes, his death. You've been through a lot--”  
  
He scoffed. “You're overreacting.”  
  
For the first time in days, she seemed to be losing her patience with him. “Am I?”  
  
“The dementor attack was nothing.” It was such an outrageous lie that he was amazed he hadn't choked on the words. He hadn't been so shaken by something since the war. “Those happen all the time.”  
  
That was true enough. The Russian government believed in the kind of liberal use of dementors that would have made Umbridge proud. Frequently overzealous, it wasn't unheard of for them to attack the wrong person as Draco had found out a few weeks prior. Then unable to produce a Patronus Charm, he'd been at their mercy as every awful thing that had happened to him, every awful thing he'd ever _done_ had consumed him. Every good thing in his life had been ripped from him as the cold and fear gripped his heart. It was only through dumb luck that he had survived. By chance, he hadn't been too far from Durmstrang, and the Dark Arts professor had been out on her morning walk.  
  
After spending the remainder of the day feeling as if he'd been hollowed out, Draco had been determined to master the Patronus Charm. Eventually – through focusing on his memory of Asteria holding Scorpius soon after his birth - he had.  
  
“And it's not as if he's the first person I've known who has died.” he finished with a shrug.  
  
His shoulders tensed. _There_ was the pity he had been expecting. “He was your best mate.”  
  
“He was an idiot. He always was. He shouldn't have been out that late, he shouldn't have even been in England. I told him repeatedly he should move, but he didn't want to. He didn't want to leave his mother alone. And now she is.”  
  
She shook her head. “You don't mean that.”  
  
“Don't I?” he asked crisply, rising from his seat. He was ready to leave now, and if Asteria wanted to stay, she was welcome to do so.  
  
“He knew what the risks were if he stayed here. He knew people weren't going to forget what had happened.” More than aware that her parents were watching, he kept his voice low. “The truth of it is, it's his own fault that's he's dead.”


End file.
